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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26050081">Summer distractions</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tikini/pseuds/Tikini'>Tikini</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tinder AU [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Queen (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Mrs Larsen, Multi, Summer Vacation, Tinder Shenanigans, hahaha, no corona AU!, rated teen to be safe because of Deaky's profession, sweaty boys, this is short and stupid but at least I did write something!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:55:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,733</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26050081</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tikini/pseuds/Tikini</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>John just stares. He feels disappointed in himself, the world and most of all, his neighbours. </p><p>He should have known.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John Deacon/Brian May/Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tinder AU [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1469642</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Summer distractions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/quirkysubject/gifts">quirkysubject</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! </p><p>Eh... I know I've been MIA for some months. I'm sorry about that, I just lost my fandom and writing spirit and distanced myself completely. I'm not saying I'll go back to being the same active Tiki as before, but I finally managed to write something!</p><p>It's silly. And it's not the tinder AU thing you were promised. It is, actually, a tiny idea the lovely Quirkysubject and I talked about a while ago. And it is the first thing I've been able to write in ages. So I'm very happy, even if it's short and quite shitty (I'm definitely rusty...).</p><p>Without further ado, I hope there might still be any of you around, and that you're not too upset with me &lt;3 And also, I'm very excited and happy to be back!</p><p>To Quirky, one of my lovely muses &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>John reads the mail for the tenth time.</p><p>He still can’t for the life of him understand what it says. Something about sales, reviews and whatnot. The only thing he somewhat grasps is that their newest project, a sex doll line called Fat Bottomed Girls, is to be presented to management early September.  </p><p>Sales and sex dolls feel worlds away right now. It’s always a bummer to have to work in the middle of vacation. But - he’d promised his boss he’d throw an eye at his mailbox this week.</p><p>John groans and leans back in the comfortable armchair. He lazily glances out the wide window and sees their neighbour Mrs Larsen walk past on the sidewalk, her tiny but proud pug trotting alongside her.</p><p>It’s their third week staying at this place. John really likes it. The three storey townhouse in Southampton is comfortable and spacious, with both a washing machine, dishwasher and a large screen TV. There’s even a backyard with a pool and the towering hedges surrounding it allows for some privacy.</p><p>The house belongs to Brian’s aunt, who graciously offered them to stay free of charge as long as they looked after her army of houseplants, while she and her husband went sailing to America or India or some other place. John can’t remember.</p><p>John squints at the mail again, chewing at his lip. The Fat Bottomed Girls line isn’t his project, he’s barely been involved at all, but he’ll need to attend the presentation anyway. He doesn’t really feel like it, staring at silicone models of female lower bodies isn’t John’s preferred use of time. If it was male lower bodies, that might have been a different story…</p><p>Maybe he should ask Roger to go instead. Or Brian… John chuckles to himself and shakes his head.</p><p>Outside the window Mrs Larsen passes by again, this time in the opposite direction.</p><p>John looks after her in mild interest. Did she perhaps forget something? </p><p>Christ. It’s not likely he’ll get any work done if he’s getting distracted by such mundane things as middle-aged women walking their dogs. Maybe he should give up, for now. Try again later with a fresh brain.</p><p>Mind made up, he closes his laptop, puts it aside and stretches his arms over his head. If it wasn’t so damn hot and clammy, he’d consider a nap, but as it is he’s way too uncomfortable. Maybe he could convince the others to head to the beach for an afternoon swim?</p><p>He can hear Brian from the kitchen, humming along to the radio as he unloads the dishwasher. Roger disappeared outside an hour ago. John has no idea where he went. Freddie however, is lounging in the backyard. Probably wearing his indecently tiny thong. </p><p>A sly grin grows on his face. He should definitely go join Freddie.</p><p>He barely manages to lift his arse one inch from the armchair before the door leading out to the backyard is thrown open, the very boyfriend he was supposed to go find standing there.</p><p>“Fred.” John says, slumping back down in his seat as he takes in the other man’s all but naked body, eyes lingering on the impressive bulge barely hidden by thin, apricot coloured fabric.</p><p>“I think someone’s scouting out the house.” </p><p>Freddie’s skin is golden brown, with drops of perspiration sticking to his chest hair. “Hmm?” John asks absentmindedly, licking his lips.</p><p>“Someone’s scouting out the house!”</p><p>John looks up then, notices the frown on Freddie’s face, the tight grip he has on his glossy fashion magazine. “What are you talking about?”</p><p>“There’s a person lurking just on the other side of the hedge, walking back and forth.” Freddie lifts the magazine to fan himself with it, the other hand on his hip. “I think we might have a potential burglar on our hands.”</p><p>John’s eyebrows try to disappear past his hairline. “Are you serious?” Movement just outside the window makes him turn around, suspicious, only to find Mrs Larsen once again pass by, probably having picked up whatever she forgot. “Are you talking about Mrs Larsen?”</p><p>“What?” Freddie looks at him as if he’s grown two heads. “No, of course not!” He walks up to John, glancing out the window at the middle-aged lady. “It’s a person wearing a hoodie and sunglasses. They’ve been skulking around the house for half an hour!”</p><p>John chews at his tongue thoughtfully. Any thief choosing to wear a hoodie on such a hot day as this, as well as checking out their mark in the middle of the day, sounds like an idiot.</p><p>“I’m sure it’s nothing.” He tries to soothe his distressed boyfriend, tugging gently on Freddie’s arm and pulling him down in his lap. “Maybe they’re just looking for something?”</p><p>Freddie doesn’t look quite convinced but allows John to wrap his arms around him nonetheless. “Hmm.” He mutters, lifting one arm to rest over John’s shoulders as he leans forward to spy out the window. “There’s unusually many people out and about, for this time of day, in this heat.”</p><p>“Might be a garden sale somewhere.” John nuzzles past Freddie’s dark hair, inhaling the intoxicating mix of fresh sweat and expensive cologne.</p><p>Freddie shivers as John trails his lips over sensitive skin, but keeps peering out the window. “I’m telling you, darling, something’s fishy... They’re all hovering around our house.”</p><p>John sighs deeply. He just wants some quality snuggle-time (or even better, sexy-time) with his boyfriend but Freddie  won’t stop playing detective.</p><p>“Please, Fred,” he starts, but cuts himself off, attention caught by Mrs Larsen, once again passing by outside. </p><p>Huh. </p><p>That’s actually a bit weird.</p><p>Angling his neck he peers in the direction Freddie’s looking and yes, something’s off. People seem to be orbiting the other side of their house, some just standing together, appearing to be talking to each other, others slowly walking back and forth.</p><p>What in the world?</p><p>“See?” Freddie says triumphantly. </p><p>“Yeah,” John admits. “We should check it out.”</p><p>A sudden crash from the kitchen makes them both jump, eyes wide as they climb off the armchair.</p><p>“Bri?”</p><p>“Come here!” Brian calls, his voice oddly tight.</p><p>John and Freddie exchange worried glances before hurrying from the living room to the adjoining kitchen. Nothing looks out of place, except for a pot lying upside down in the middle of the floor, and Brian leaning awkwardly over the kitchen table to stare out the window.</p><p>“What is it?” Freddie asks, looking small and nervous in his tiny thong. </p><p>Brian just waves at them to step forward, his gangly form shaking with barely repressed laughter. </p><p>“Oh my god.” He wheezes.</p><p>Baffled, John half crawls over the other side of the table to look outside.</p><p>“Oh my god.” He echoes weakly.</p><p>“What?” Freddie hisses and the next second a sharp elbow digs into John’s ribs, forcing him to the side as Freddie actually climbs on top of the table.</p><p>John just stares. He feels disappointed in himself, the world and most of all, his neighbours. </p><p>He should have known.</p><p>The group he and Freddie saw from the living room are indeed gathered around their house. Some try to appear casual, as they’ve just <em>happened</em> to end up there. Others just stare. Completely obvious.</p><p>Right in front of their house, Roger’s apparently decided that his beloved Alfa Romeo was in need of a clean (it really wasn’t) and that today was the perfect day to go about it (nevermind that today’s hitting heat records all over UK).</p><p>And, as a result, he’s putting on a better show than what this sleepy street’s probably seen in… well. Ever.</p><p>At the moment he’s half draped over the hood of the car, scrubbing diligently at the windscreen. His white t-shirt is soaked in soapy water and sweat, clinging to his torso as he twists and stretches to reach. His hair is up in a messy bun, a few escaped strands clinging to the damp skin of his neck. With his favourite sunglasses on and earbuds in, he looks as happy as can be and completely oblivious to his audience.</p><p>John can’t hear him, but he can see how he’s singing along to whatever rock song most definitely is threatening his ear drums at the moment.</p><p>“How long has this been going on?” John turns to Brian, gesturing at Roger and the neighbours.</p><p>Brian just shakes his head, expression half fond, half amused. “No clue. Probably awhile. He’s just about finished.”</p><p>“Those rascals!” Freddie grins, climbing further up the table to see better.</p><p>John sees how Mrs Larsen makes a sharp turn a few houses away, tugging her confused pug after her as she walks back towards them, hips swaying exaggeratedly.</p><p>“Should… should we do something?” John asks dumbly.</p><p>Brian shrugs.</p><p>Outside, Roger stands up straight. He stretches his back and wipes his arm over his forehead. Then he squats down in front of a bucket with soapy water and dips his rag in it.</p><p>The old, threadbare jeans he’s wearing struggle to not rip at the seams as they stretch over his arse and thighs.</p><p>“Tear, tear, tear,” Freddie chants gleefully.</p><p>The jeans don't tear. Miraculously.</p><p>Mrs Larsen has reached their house, she slows her pace considerably as she walks by, stealing glances from beneath her sun visor. </p><p>John watches her pass, sees how she again increases her pace, down to the neighbouring house, where she promptly turns again.</p><p>“For fuck’s sake.” He says, with feeling, and then promptly knocks on the glass. “Roger!”</p><p>Roger doesn’t hear him.</p><p>John glares at the approaching Mrs Larsen and knocks harder. </p><p>Freddie joins him, banging at the glass and grinning widely.</p><p>Brian just laughs at them.</p><p>By the time they manage to get Roger’s attention, their wild banging and John’s death stare have already sent most of the spectators on their way, cheeks rosy at having been caught.</p><p>Roger, none the wiser, waves at them, a bright grin on his sun kissed face.</p><p>Brian waves back. </p><p>Freddie blows him a kiss.</p><p>John groans and puts his head in his hands. </p><p>- - -</p><p>The next day Mrs Larsen offers a puzzled Roger half a fortune to wash her car. John decides that enough is enough and demands that they return home to London.</p><p>The others grudgingly agree after he promises to cook for the rest of the week.</p><p>John does, in fact, not check his work mailbox that week.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope you enjoyed! I at least, had some fun xD</p><p>(For you poor dear souls who're waiting for the Dreams update - I have not forgotten! Have faith, because I'll  knock out the next fucking chapter if it's the last thing I do.)</p><p>/Love Tiki</p></blockquote></div></div>
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